


Burning Stars: The Assassin and the Traitor

by Etched_in_Fire



Series: Star Fox: Fate's Decree [13]
Category: Star Fox Series
Genre: Andross cameo, Banter, Eladard, Gen, Leon backstory, Midquel, Minor Original Character(s), Rivals, Shootouts, Violence, Wolf O'Donnell cameo, venom - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2020-10-25 13:59:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Etched_in_Fire/pseuds/Etched_in_Fire
Summary: 0 ALW -- Having lived a life of following orders, Leon has never questioned the path he had tread... until an ill-fated mission at a mob boss's manor, that is.  Paired up with infamous mercenary Pigma Dengar, Leon must take on a life-or-death mission and do arguably what he is worst at-- saving the day.





	1. Due to Unfortunate Circumstances...

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: I try to make all of my stories enjoyable on their own but for this one, I would recommend reading Burning Stars, if you haven't. This takes place during Chapter 9 and functions as a sort of "midquel" for that story.
> 
> I had the idea to incorporate this as a chapter in the main Burning Stars story but it's inclusion felt... off. I decided I wanted to keep the story purely from Wolf's perspective but the addition of Leon's perspective covering his side of the mission in Archie's manor sounded fun to write. So I wrote it. And it turned out a lot longer than I had anticipated! I mostly blame Pigma-- he's just too fun to write.
> 
> The next chapter for the main Burning Stars story should be out sometime soon-- I hope this week but I've said that for the past two weeks. Life has been super hectic lately but I'm trying to make more time for internet shenanigans.

Border patrol duty with his sister and father had always been a source of relaxation for Leon, then called Liahnpa of the Hlraskrei clan. Though the nature of their mission was dangerous, something about walking the lethal jungles of Venom brought to him a sense of fell, ethereal serenity that could not be matched even by the deepest meditation. It was because of the danger that lurked that their patrols were made in almost utter silence. Their feet knew their ways around each bog, moving in a pattern they had learned when they were children, lest they fall into the life-claiming mud pits that haunted the jungle floor. When they could, they took the canopy routes, walking through tangles of branches their forefathers had made. Massive leaves belonging to ancient trees obscured their ancestral pathways, shielding them from the sight of any would-be predator that dwelled below. 

Their route took them from the Venomian jungles they called home into the hellish wastelands beyond. Tunnels chiseled into canyon walls were their method of travel. Years of treading the darkened paths had made their eyes accustomed to the pitch black. Nevertheless, they kept their weapons close at hand on the off chance something had decided to take up residence in the dark. But as luck would have had it, nothing greeted them in the dry, arid dark of the tunnel and the trio soon found themselves at the cave’s end, which spilled into an overlook. The volcanic region they called the “Deadlands” lay before them. Geysers guzzled into the air and the forest ended in patches of dying, twist trees at its outskirts. 

“Another one,” said his sister in her dark tones, orange eyes lifted to the black hole overhead. She rested against the tunnel wall, a grim look upon her face. Her weapon was held lightly in one hand—a hybrid weapon that blended a harpoon and a rifle into one. Its bayonet was a jagged monstrosity with teeth carved in it to rend through flesh like a knife through butter.

“We should salvage it,” Liahnpa said to her and his father grunted in agreement. He had always been a quiet sort, never speaking unless there was an absolute need to. 

As with all of the other black holes that appeared in the sky, this one beget a white pod with a circular emblem painted perfectly on its hull. Liahnpa watched it spill out from the abyss and watched it collide into the earth at the edge of the Deadlands. Perhaps a mile north and the pod would have found its home in a lava pit. A quick, fiery death for the pod and whatever laid inside was likely more merciful than the wilderness of Venom.

“Give it a moment,” his sister cautioned. “If it is one of the dogs’ prisoners, then the air will kill them. It will make the salvaging easier.”

Liahnpa nodded. They gave it five minutes before they descended the rocky slope. Finding the pod was an easy feat, as its pristine white paint stood out like a sore thumb against the infernal red of Venom’s surface. Despite knowing the inhabitant was likely dead already, they proceeded forward with caution and weapons drawn. Sometimes, they died instantly. Sometimes, they came out, breathed a few times, then died. Other times, rare times, they lived—assimilating into the cruel and unforgiving Venomian culture and forsaking their old selves in the name of survival. It had been fifty years since the last time that had happened, according to the elders of their village.

When they approached the pod, they found it empty. The hatch leading inside was open, its meager controls exposed. Liahnpa looked to his father, who ran his thin, bony fingers over the pod with thought glistening in his dark eyes. When he contemplated, the scar on his upper lip seemed to deepen. 

“We will need a few more hands,” said his father. “I will call for them. Liahnpa. Sorca. Look for the—” He stopped just short of finishing his sentence but they all heard it. A voice. Audible yet… the words made no sense.

Liahnpa looked to his sister and she gave a quick nod. As his father began to radio in to the rest of the village their finding, the two siblings slipped away towards the source of the voice. They crept towards a patch of gnarled trees, their leaves decaying both on the branch and in heaps around its trunk. The voice spoke in a whisper, aimed at no one that Liahnpa could see. But the way the breeze moved, he felt a strange prickling sensation on the back of his nape. His hands tightened around the curved scimitar he carried. 

“I will avenge you…”

They found the ape in a small clearing. The stranger laid on his side, pressed against a slab of stone that was leaning against the base of a tree. His eyes were half-lidded, his mouth agape and grasping for air. Tears trickled one by one down his cheeks, flooding from bloodshot eyes. His mouth was decorated with white fur that intermingled with the fur on his head and neck. His nails scraped the stone with agitation. One of his feet twitched.

“He is dying,” Sorca whispered with satisfaction. She turned to leave wordlessly, to let the elements take its newest quarry. 

But Liahnpa did not move. He found himself transfixed by the stranger. As Sorca’s soft steps retreated back towards the pod, Liahnpa found his feet propelling him forward in an apprehensive walk forth. He sheathed his scimitar, pulling out his dagger. Silently, he reasoned that ending the deserted prisoner’s life now would appease the spirits of the land—the ones that hid in the shadows and whispered dark things. 

“You…” the stranger’s eye had caught sight of the lithe warrior. Each haggard breath beget a small snarl, exposing his curved fangs. “Who are _you?_”

Liahnpa stopped. His common Lylatian was not terribly practiced but he understood the ape’s meaning well enough. Eyes narrowing, the reptile continued forth, his voice as dark as his intentions.

“I am Liahnpa of the Hlraskrei.”

“That get up. You must be a Venomian,” the stranger said with a humorless laugh. “Corneria would have us all believe you don’t exist.” 

He began to rise and that caused the reptile to stop again, just a few yards from the prisoner. The ape pushed himself upright and then shakily rose to his feet. A lock of silvery hair fell into his eyes. Liahnpa could see that the man was indeed clad in the same prisoner’s uniform as all the ones before him had been. His unkempt hair ran down his back, tied in a loose ponytail. What struck the reptile the most about him, however, were his eyes. They were exhausted, riddled with a thousand thoughts… but so incredibly intelligent, piercing through everything he saw as though they were knives.

_He is… unusual._

“What’s the dagger for? Did you think I was going to let you gut me?” the simian asked.

“Most die when they breathe this air,” Liahnpa said. “And yet you… stand.”

“My name is Gestalt Andross. I am the head of Space Dynamics… Or I suppose, I _was,_” the simian replied bitterly. “I have been put on this planet to die. And I… I suppose I am as baffled as you are that I am here. Breathing this air.” He paused. “Are there others like me here? Others that survive?”

“Not for a long time.”

“Where do you live?”

“Beyond the canyon walls, in the thick of the jungle.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Liahnpa,” came the voice of the Venomian’s father and he turned to see his sire flanked by a puzzled Sorca. He stepped back to let his father take control of the situation—as was custom in his tribe to let elders assume authority.

The one called Andross beheld his father with a small, albeit pained smile. Perhaps the air did not kill him but something about the simian still felt weak. His body seemed so frail beneath his uniform, as though he had not seen a decent meal in decades. 

“What will we do with him?” Sorca asked.

“We will do what we have always done,” her father replied thoughtfully, staring down Andross. “We will take him back with us.”

And so they did, making the long trek back to their village with their newest ally in tow. Andross did not speak a word the entire time. Liahnpa caught him observing everything—the stone formations of their canyons, the way their paths had been woven into the trees, and even the shadows of creatures that lurked on the jungle floor. He was a silent watcher, his eyes dancing with myriads of thoughts and lips creasing with tiny, knowing smiles. Within days of his arrival to the village, he was already mapping out ways to better bolster the village’s defenses against possible threats. It was not long before he rose to favor with the Hlraskrei… and with the elders too.

Years passed. Andross and his way with technology had advanced their weaponry to the point where their neighbors could not withstand their might. As their territory expanded, so did their admiration for Gestalt Andross until the elders had declared him a savior to their people. They revised all of their village structures, salvaging parts from abandoned technology (from the ones Andross called “the Cornerians) to construct fully sized indoor cities that protected the Venomians from the elements.

Liahnpa had never strayed far from Andross, keeping to his shadow out of curiosity and excitement. Sorca chided him throughout the years for his fascination with the outside world that Andross would speak so fondly of. But despite her lectures and her down to earth mentality, Liahnpa knew that with Andross’s arrival, everything about Venom had changed… and it was certainly for the better for their hellish world. His fascination evolved into fondness. And that fondness was forged into loyalty. Andross had shown him what lay beyond the skies and his inventions had done much to help his people. It was not long before Liahnpa found himself at the simian’s right hand side in the months before the war. 

Andrew was the first of the Star Wolf team he had met. His first impression was not particularly great but the reptile understood that the boy was wet behind the ears. Andrew’s constant grandstanding and attempts to measure up to his uncle felt forced. It was as though the young simian craved attention and the reptile was unsure of how to respond to his raucous behavior.

Pigma was introduced next and his presence made Liahnpa feel sick to his stomach. He disagreed vehemently with his leader’s plan to recruit the one they were using as a spy; after all, it would have been much simpler to just cut the loose end and to let Pigma burn with their first target. His fickle loyalty was, at best, a danger to their operation. The reptile struggled to see himself cooperating with someone who was fine with selling out his old team. He only obliged because Andross wanted him to.

And then there was Wolf. Wolfrik O’Donnell, the dreaded pirate that had bled noble houses dry with heists and robberies. Wolf, the one who had been sentenced to a lifetime of prison. To say Liahnpa was intrigued by the vagabond was an understatement; his resume of crime and battle expertise were incredible. Wolf had leadership experience, the ability to see a thousand options in the heat of battle, and was marked as an expert pilot. Despite his doubts about Andrew and Pigma, Liahnpa knew that Andross was not making a mistake by choosing Wolf O’Donnell.

The rest was history written in blood and ash. Even after Andross’s fiery demise, the assassin struggled to let go of his loyalty. He asked himself if returning home was the answer he sought but the notion of going back to border patrols in the Venomian wilds made him feel nauseous. Too much had changed. He could not forget what could have been. He could not let go. Logic told him that Andross’s dream had died along with him. The ashes were simply that; ashes, too scattered to restore an empire of glory and progress. 

And yet, there Liahnpa—Leon—was. He continued because there was no other choice. That stubbornness had led him to that drear Eladardian manor. What had happened all before seemed like a blur—their getaway ship had been damaged. Pigma maybe was a traitor. Wolf had someone out to kill him. Someone who was supposed to fix their ship was now being held hostage by some mob boss with a penchant for blood. Why did it feel like misfortune haunted their every move?

Beneath gloomy clouds, bleak remnants from last night’s storm, Leon waited for Pigma. From where he crouched in the shadows, he let his thoughts pass him by. They numbed him to the fear that would have naturally consumed anyone neck-deep in enemy territory. He did not try to stifle them. He did not try to argue them. Leon had never been at war with his mind. The war around him always kept his attention away from his own feelings.

_This is a long way from Venom and a far cry from the future we were promised by Andross. I could ask myself how we got here, but it does not matter. Andross died. We ran. We came here. And now, this is where we are. _

“Hey you!”

His spot made it hard to see him but not impossible. Without a second thought, the lizard threw his knife at the approaching grunt, letting the blade sheath itself into the thug’s neck. No death cry came out, just a wet gurgle as the thug fell to the ground. Leon skulked out of the shadows to fetch his blade, wresting it free from the newly made corpse. He slid it twice onto his black pants, letting the blood stain them and not the silver of his knife. Clothes were replaceable… and perhaps knives were too, but the one he had thrown had been a special one, plucked off a Zonessian during Andross’s conquest. Leon fancied the carvings in the silver of its blade. They were fluid as water, reminding him vaguely of the war paint members of his tribe would wear.

“Pigma. Where are you?” Leon hissed into the communications channel. He ran his thumb over the flat of the knife’s blade, feeling the indentions of the carvings. “You are putting us behind schedule.”

“Be there soon!” Pigma panted from the other line.

_There is much that has gone awry. But if I were to question anything, it would be why Wolf paired me up with this fool._

In all his years, the Venomian had never felt such acute _rage_ towards an assigned partner. As he waited for the hog to arrive, Leon Powalski dedicated his time to securing the parameter. Most of Archie’s guards had been called to the front to inspect the plane that Pigma had so unceremoniously crashed into their wilted lawn, so the pickings were quite slim. He had wet his blade thrice by the time Pigma did show up, huffing and puffing so loud that Leon was certain it would draw the guards away from the crash site. Irritation boiling the lizard’s blood, Leon pressed a single finger to the swine’s snout, fiery irises exuding that sort of silent wrath he had become known for. 

When he removed the finger from Pigma’s sinfully ugly mug, the hog scowled at him. Barely-hairy brows knitting together at the center of his incredibly round head, Pigma sneered at the lizard, “Hey! You try runnin’ that as fast as I did!”

“If you attract the guards, I’ll leave you here to deal with them,” Leon threatened him. Without another word, the assassin began towards the patio. 

Wolf and Andrew had already gone inside. Leon traced their steps, sheathing his blade in exchange for his rifle. The grooves of its handles felt comfortable in his hands, as if they had been crafted for him and him alone. He kept his breathing through his nose, tail curled. The back yard was filled with strange artwork. They were idols, Leon figured, left by the wealthy Cornerians who had built the mansion. One of his wide eyes caught a glimpse of the stone idols, its limbs eroded by the wind and rain. Its face looked agonized, as though it were still feeling the pain of its arms being separated from its body. 

_Cornerians are such strange creatures. Why would they want to keep these things here? What is it supposed to evoke?_

“Heh, wouldn’t mind one of those in my room. The curvy one, I mean,” Pigma remarked crudely and Leon shook his head in confusion. He cast a gander at the one Pigma was referring to, noticing how its head had been removed. Its voluptuous, nude torso, however, was perfectly untouched.

“You can have the one of General Pepper, if you want,” Pigma added, pointing at a statue of the war dog laying in shambles. Leon thought it best to not reward the hog with a reply and merely continued forward. 

Grime clung to the patio windows. A stale stench drifted from them as Leon passed them by, the glass so murky that he could not see into the mansion. Pigma pointed his blaster at the windows, a cheery smile spreading wide across his face. Leon rested his rifle against his shoulder, freeing up a hand to grab the doorknob. He opened it carefully, Pigma sidling up next to him to point the blaster at the opening door_. _ Early light flooded a dining room, revealing a table that had not had a visitor in what seemed like years. Immediately, a foul scent drifted over Leon’s nostrils. He grimaced.

_This place reeks of death… but without smelling like it. How this is, I am not sure… _

“Heh, too bad there ain’t any grub,” Pigma remarked and Leon rolled his eyes. He walked in, grasping his rifle in both hands. Movement caught his eye and his body snapped in its direction, the barrel of his rifle pointed at it. Dust bunnies dwelled en masse in the corners of the decrepit room, brought to life by a stale, hot breeze that filtered in from the open door. Pigma shut it, giving a shrug.

“Well, we’re here now. Where to first?” Pigma asked.

“The necklace,” Leon reminded him and began down a hallway on the other side of the table.

“And where’s that supposed ta be?” Pigma asked.

“The blueprints had a section designated…” Leon began, rubbing his chin. 

_ Damn it. Usually I’d remember something like this. But I guess the lack of sleep and being on the run has me a bit rattled._ He cast a wary look at Pigma. _And I guess being with this wretched thing has got my focus elsewhere…_

“Maybe we should ask Wolf if he knows,” Leon suggested quickly.

_ And pray I don’t die from embarrassment. _

“This is Pigma,” Pigma said after a quick tap on the headset attached to his ear. “We’re on the first floor, looking for the vault. Any ideas where it’s at?”

“North wing, third floor,” Wolf’s voice cutting through the tense quiet was welcome. “Should be behind a big black door.”

“We will find it,” Leon chimed in quickly and quietly. To his partner, the lizard beckoned him with a soft-toned, “Come on.”

Dust-ridden paintings hung about in gold-painted frames. They felt like excesses, testaments to wealth and nothing more. Their lack of upkeep was evidenced in the cracks of their frames and the paleness of the dust that draped in the lumps of paint that comprised the art. Perhaps in their prime, they had been worth something. Neglect had disfigured them. Vanity did not matter in the face of the passage of time. Leon smirked. All that effort for all that coin and what did it matter in the end?

The hallway forked and Leon instinctively went left. A trio of guards hung about the corridor, one holding a can of Katinan beer. One of the guards yelped in surprise a moment before a single shot from Leon’s rifle sniped the life from him—a single laser burning a hole between his eyes. Pigma dispatched the other two with quick, sloppy laser fire. The can of beer fell to the ground and the hog sprinted for it, picking it up off the ground. Its pale yellow tone marred the redwood floorboards. Leon’s scaled snout wrinkled in disgust, eyes drawing from the puddle to where Pigma was downing the last of the beer.

“Are you serious?” Leon asked the hog incredulously.

_ Wolf… I know better than to question your judgement. But right now, I’m really wondering why you paired me with him…_

“There’s still some left,” the swine stuck out a tongue, letting a few drops sate his dry tongue.

Past the bleeding corpses, Leon found an ajar door. He nudged the door open with the nose of his rifle, directing it into the next room. A shadow fell upon him and he paused, eyes traveling upward at the source. A massive set of leaves blotted out the ceiling, faint light making their green hue seem to glow. The aroma of plants and flowers suddenly hit him, a stark contrast to the musk of the rugged manor. Beyond the massive plant towering over him, he could see other Uncertain, the lizard took a step back. 

“I do not understand,” Leon looked at Pigma. “They kept a forest in here?”

“Oh, it’s a greenhouse,” Pigma shrugged. “Y’know, for keeping plants in.”

“No. I do not know,” Leon shook his head.

“It’s… something rich people do, I dunno,” Pigma shrugged again. “Think this is the right way?”

“I doubt it,” Leon retorted. “Do you think there’s a door on the other side? A way through?”

“Usually this sorta stuff spills into the outside,” Pigma shook his head. “We’d have better luck someplace different.”

Frustrated, Leon closed the door, fighting the urge to not slam it shut. As a sigh of exasperation fizzled out from his mouth, he turned and began to stalk his way towards the way they had come. Truly, these Cornerian abodes were like labyrinths—stifling with their lack of windows and messy with their abundance of rooms that made no sense. Why have a forest in a house? Did the forest not belong _outside? _ Why have a thousand credenzas resting about the hallways? Why have vases if they were meant to store nothing? Why… why… _why! _Their lives seemed so asinine, so caught up in trivial matters like having _fuzzy _ground underfoot in their halls or some particular hue of wood. He did not understand—everyone bled the same in the end, everyone _died_ the same in the end. 

The Venomian suppressed a hiss as he stalked back down the hall, careful to step over the corpses. A guard passed by, pausing and turning with an alarmed “huh!?” as he did so. Leon lifted his rifle, clicking the trigger once and watching the man fall—not even slowing his pace a hair. Disgruntled, he took a left at the hallway intersection, going deeper in the mansion’s first floor.

“Do we even know where we’re going?” Pigma asked, hustling to keep up with Leon’s brisk strides.

“Need to find the stairs,” Leon replied. “Third floor.”

“Okay, but you drew the map. Do you know where the stairs are?” Pigma asked with more than a little whine in his voice.

“Should be…” Leon’s fiery gaze spied them as soon as they rounded the corner, spilling into what he could only assume was the manor’s central room. It seemed to be a massive intersection of sorts—auspiciously devoid of any guards. 

“Oh, huh,” Pigma remarked. “Weird, no guards here.”

“Keep your voice down. Let’s go to the third floor,” Leon hissed and began to climb the stairs. They had been cut from marble but they were chipped at the edges. The assassin moved carefully as to not clip any of the stair’s jagged edges.

“So he’s got this in a vault, eh?” Pigma said after they had climbed past the second floor. “Isn’t this kinda like what ya see in cartoons?”

“Cartoons?” Leon asked, shooting him a glare over his shoulder.

“Ya know, the stuff that plays every morning on Saturdays?” Pigma asked.

“We did not get much _play_ on Venom,” Leon said sharply.

“Not even the ol’ classics? Like Dom and Terry? Or Marty Mouse?” Pigma asked aghast.

“Can you focus for _half_ a second?” Leon snapped.

“I’m just saying, this guy seems to be your textbook villain. Big scary house. Hired thugs. Keeps his goods in a vault,” Pigma shrugged. “Maybe he’s got some other bits and pieces in there. Like some treasure.”

Leon knew it was bait. He took it nonetheless.

“Like what sort of treasure?” the assassin asked with loathing.

“Like old paintings that are worth a fortune. Or diamonds. Or a paintings made of diamonds,” Pigma suggested.

“I… fail to understand the point of such things,” Leon confessed darkly as they reached the third floor.

“It’s… you know. To show your status,” Pigma shrugged.

_ Things without purpose will never do you any good. Having things for the sake of having things is an asinine concept, nurtured by those who do not understand where real power truly comes from. Fear is the currency of this world. The more they fear, the more power you have. Fear turns mortals into gods. And money makes blood flow._

“I hate Cornerians,” Leon stated venomously with the shake of his head and resumed his aggressive stalk down the hallway. His mind called back to his home world, where they did not have time to worry about mansions, fancy tables, or having the ability to hoard things. He thought of his village, built upon the bones of the long-gone ancient tribes. One day, his village would be annihilated and another village would build over their corpses. It was the law of nature. Frivolousness mattered not.

The corridor spilled into a large, open parlor with a shattered flat screen TV, a coffee table that used to have four legs (now sporting three and a half), and emptied pots—pots that he was quite certain had once contained plants but now contained only piles of crusty dirt. An old grand piano sat in the corner, its top caved in and a few keys laying scattered about the off-putting maroon and gold rug. Leon scowled at it, giving a slight hiss. He stepped over the mess of piano keys on the floor, eyes shiftily glancing about. A nearby palm tree had been potted and put into the corner of the room. It sat next to an exotic Zonessian screen depicting a naked male bear laying sprawled by the riverside, his private bits only concealed by a large-petaled flower held inconspicuously near his crotch. Pigma snorted at the image. Leon rolled his eyes. 

Shuffling of feet in the nearby hallway caused the lizard to give pause. Grabbing the hog by the arm, he pulled them both behind the lewd screen. 

“Whaaat?” Pigma asked and Leon ‘shushed’ him.

A pair of guards walked in, decked out in shoddy vests and jeans. Their military-style boots clunked against the hardwood floor to an awkward beat. One of them, vulture from what Leon could tell behind the screen, held a crowbar in his hand. He walked with a limp and his head swung back and forth to scan the parlor lazily. Leon held his breath, feeling his pointer finger rest on the trigger of his rifle. But in that confined space, he knew that he would be at a disadvantage. He quickly side-eyed Pigma, who’s brow had furrowed at the approach of the two guards. 

“Weird as shit, y’anno,” the vulture squawked to his companion, a wily looking opossum with missing front teeth. “Tha’ the Boss wants us ta stay inside. I ‘ope this ain’t one of his games again.”

“Heh, better in here where it’s cool than out there frying our asses off,” the opossum remarked. “Don’t care if it a game or not. Anything to get outta the sun.”

“Ya won’t think that if the Boss is wantin’ ta hunt again,” the vulture retorted.

“It’s only been a week since last time,” the opossum retorted. “He prob still pickin’ bones clean from ‘is last lil excursion.”

Leon noticed the gun in Pigma’s hand turn slowly from the vertical position to horizontal. The hog made no motion to the lizard. He stared ahead, breath quiet as death’s gentle, unyielding grasp. The barrel pointed at the guards as they walked by, but from the angle he was standing in, Leon could not tell which one Pigma was aiming at. A split second later and the vulture fell, pierced through the heart by a crimson flash of light. The opossum immediately bolted. Leon kicked the screen over, pointing his rifle at the retreating opossum. He fired, the laser searing through the mahogany doorframe. The opossum let out a shriek.

Flinging the rifle onto his back, Leon dove after the screaming rodent. Still adjusting his rifle’s strap, he sprinted through the parlor, towards the corridor with the endless credenzas. Drawing a knife from his belt, he watched the rhythm of the opossum’s gait. Leon pulled his hand back. Movement ahead caught his eye and he spied a dazed looking goat round the corner. Instinct kicked in and Leon flung the dagger further, catching the goat in the throat with lethal precision. The opossum shrieked again and Leon was certain by now everyone in the entire manor had heard him.

A second knife came to his palm, a smaller one with a straight blade. He held it between two thin fingers, peeling back his arm and sending it flying with desperation. It caught the opossum’s leg. He fell to the ground with a cry, grabbing at his bloodied limb. Eyes wide, he looked to Leon, trembling from shock. The assassin pulled out a third knife, reaching down to grab the rodent by his collar.

“This is the north wing of the third floor. Where does Archie keep his valuables?” hissed Leon into the opossum’s face.

“D-don’t kill me!” wept the opossum.

“Tell me where he keeps his valuables and I will _consider_…” Leon said, the point of the knife prodding the opossum’s chin. “… Not sending this through your jaw and into that tiny brain of yours.”

“Okay, okay!” screamed the opossum, his grubby hands clinging to Leon’s wrists. “I’ll… I’ll show you!” 

The lizard dropped him in an instant, letting the thug fall into a heap on the ground. He grabbed at the small blade embedded in his leg and Leon gave a small hiss, jabbing at the opossum’s back with the blade so that it pricked him through his vest. The opossum squawked and began to hobble forward. 

“T-this way!” the opossum said, pointing a bloodied finger down the hall.

They began down the corridor, their guide hampered by his injury. His pace could have likely put a lamed slug to shame but Leon knew they had little choice otherwise. More portraits passed them by, dusted over and uninteresting, save for their callous eyes, which glinted like light reflecting off of metal. Leon thought it was a strange trick of the light at first, but after the third or fourth time, he began to feel unease crawling up his spine. Before he could mention it to his unorthodox partner, Pigma turned to one, reaching up to the portrait’s face with two fingers poised in a claw-like fashion. He seized something hidden in the paint and pulled, producing a small camera that fit on the end of his thumb. Without a second thought, the swine crushed it.

“We’re being watched,” Pigma announced darkly.

“Great,” Leon murmured under his breath. 

Their captive escorted them down a jagged hallway, its walls crumbled in small places. The building’s infrastructure stared at them, unnatural as the sight of bone among bloody, maimed flesh. It was a wonder that the building hadn’t collapsed; its disarray was unfathomable, as if it was a cluster of memories the keeper had no issue locking away until it decayed into nothing. 

“Here,” the opossum croaked, pointing at an ebony-painted door down the long hallway. It was flanked by twin statues, their identities unknown as their heads had fallen off. 

The opossum fell to the ground, grasping his injured leg. Wordlessly, Leon stepped around him and began down the hall at a brisk pace. He heard Pigma hurry along after him, marginally surprised the swine had decided to not put the rodent out of his misery. Perhaps there was honor among thieves and degenerates after all.

“Seems a bit on the nose, eh?” Pigma remarked and Leon could not help but agree. The hog readied his blaster with a crooked grin. “I been in enough of these to know where this leads.”

“A trap?” Leon asked. “More than likely.”

As they approached the door, Leon could feel apprehension fester in his stomach. Triangular snout wrinkled, the assassin shot Pigma a glance. Despite everything, the cocksure hog seemed to be unfazed, his pale eyes gleaming with childish glee as he pointed his blaster at the vault door. For a moment, Leon wondered if this was all just an elaborate game for him. 

_ I should be careful, just in case. He sold James out when his tail was backed up to the flames. He could sell me out too if things go poorly._

“Whatcha starin’ at?” Pigma asked with a raised brow.

“Got any grenades on you?” Leon asked quickly, averting his gaze towards the door again. “Might be better to go in with guns blazing.”

“Heh, you’re in luck. I snatched a few off a dead guy awhile back,” Pigma replied with a cheeky grin. “Ya thinking of blasting the door down?”

“Better than opening it and getting a face full of lasers,” Leon remarked.

“That’s not very stealthy of ya,” Pigma pointed out.

“Sometimes you need finesse. Sometimes you need explosives,” Leon retorted. 

“What we gonna do after we blow up the door?” Pigma asked. “What if we blow the necklace to smithereens with it?”

“I doubt that’ll be the case,” Leon scoffed. “Just how potent are those things?”

“Potent enough,” Pigma said with a wink and Leon scowled at him.

He and the swine backed up a fair amount, giving the door a wide berth. Pigma plucked a grenade from his belt, holding it up with a maniacal smile. He activated it with the flick of his thumb, chucking it at the door with all of his might. Leon heard a small laugh fringe his breath moments before the door erupted into flames. There was nothing subtle about the explosion but with the trail of bodies that they had left in their wake, Leon was beginning to question how many of Archie’s cronies were even still alive. Blazing irises staring at the smoke-clogged doorway through the aiming reticle of his rifle, the assassin began forward in prompt, but cautious steps. His trigger finger twitched with anticipation.

Pigma stood at his side, hoisting his heavier blaster with one hand. His spare had an unactive grenade in its palm. The hog poised to throw it if need be, but the silence on the other end of the door made him stay his hand. As they neared it, Leon began to realize that the grenade had been a bit overkill—the door lay in splinters at their feet and Archie’s supposed loot storage seemed as devoid of life as Eladard’s wastelands outside. The lizard frowned. It was odd that no one was here, guarding something that was supposedly precious to the old mob boss. 

“Huh,” Pigma remarked. 

They stepped into the room, causing the lights to flicker on. It was large and stretched a long ways, formed in a rectangle. There were a few chandeliers that hung from the ceiling, their gold prongs tipped with bulbs in the shape of flames. Various glass cases had been lined up in a museum-like fashion, forming aisles. The cases were all occupied from what he could tell. The first thing that caught Leon’s eye was a gold-hilted saber, forged so that the metal looked as though it contained a myriad of metallic waves. Its guard was lined with blazing rubies. A small label in front of it declared it was a “Native Titanian Saber, Restored by Cornerian Archaeologists”. Leon thought about adding it to his collection but opted not to. Its sheen felt gaudy.

“Door was pretty flimsy,” Pigma remarked. “This place wasn’t built to store things.”

“If what I’ve heard is true, much of this place wasn’t built for what it’s being used for,” Leon replied.

He passed more glass cases by, their prisoners a strange jumble of random items—fragments of meteors of unknown origin, a weathered crown that had supposedly belonged to a noble from Animus, an Eladardian gauntlet forged from the metal of a fallen star, a Civil War-era blaster… the list went on and on. As he wandered the aisle, searching for anything that looked like a necklace, he felt his impatience grow. 

_ For a “cartoonish villain” he keeps odd things in his treasure room. And why position everything like this? It just seems so strange and inefficient. _

“I think I found it,” Pigma announced and Leon whirled around to face him. He hopped over an aisle of glass cases and bounded to the swine’s side.

Pigma was squinting at a collection of jewelry enclosed together. Two necklaces sat next to each other—a silver locket with a midnight-blue opal imbued into its pendant. Flecks of light shimmered within the stone’s rich hue, as if the opal itself was a night sky littered with countless stars. A wreath of small diamonds circled the dark gem. Even with his inexperience with jewelry, Leon could tell it was expertly crafted.

“ ‘_Burning Stars’_,” Pigma read its description aloud with a small scoff. “Huh, fancy name. You’d think this would be somethin’ important. How’d some backwater croc get his claws on this?”

Leon did not grace the hog’s question with an answer. He plucked a thin-bladed knife from his belt and worked the padlock open with a deft twist of his wrist. As the lock fell to the ground, it gave a clamor that sounded like gunshots against the marble. The lizard flipped open the lid and reached for the necklace.

“Someone’s comin’!” Pigma alerted him and instinct kicked in. 

The Venomian assassin snatched the necklace and ducked under the case, flattening himself against the ground. Though the cases’ thin legs made cover still sparse, Leon knew it was better than nothing. He just hoped whoever had come in did not look down. Quietly, the lizard pocketed the necklace and firmed his grasp around his knife’s hilt. It took a moment for Leon to realize his partner had not followed suite. 

_ No. No, what are you doing, you stupid pig!? You’re blowing our cover. We need to sneak out of here, meet up with Wolf, and make a run for it._

Anxiously, the assassin whispered, “Pigma, get down.”

“Too late,” the swine mumbled lowly and out of the side of his mouth. His stance was still lax, though Leon could tell from the concentration in the hog’s eyes that he was staring holes through something… or perhaps, someone.

“Well, well, well,” the raspy tones of a stranger caught the lizard’s attention. From beneath the table, he could tell nothing about the voice’s owner, save for their affinity for military-style boots. The jiggling of what sounded like keys persisted between each of the stranger’s heavy, thudding steps. “What do we have here? A petty thief looking to snatch some goods? Can’t say that’s what I expected.”

“What can I say, darlin’?” Pigma asked. “Got a thing for big… jewels.” 

“Cap’n, the wolf ain’t here,” a second strange voice chimed in.

“He’s around here somewhere, go find ‘em. Karl, Donny, you stick with me,” the first voice snapped. A few footsteps in the distance shuffled away. Leon tried to catch a peek at their enemies and could see only three sets of boots.

“Heh, you look a bit tougher than the rest o’ the punks we saw on our way in. Can’t say I’m disappointed, though, I was startin’ ta get _bored_,” Pigma remarked. The assassin tried to make eye contact with his porcine companion but Pigma’s pale eyes seemed to stare forward with burning intent. Leon could see something in the hog’s other hand—a small black orb mostly concealed in Pigma’s massive palm.

_ A grenade._

He snuck another glance at Archie’s three cronies. The one standing in front was a hyena, built like a tank but with vivid turquoise fringe flowing from her head. Protective armor covered her chest and arms, but her head was exposed—a reckless sign of confidence if Leon had ever seen one. At her flank were two impressive brutes; one was a flat-faced gecko and the other was a baboon with a fanged smirk.

_ If Pigma’s planning what I think he’s planning, then I need to make sure I’m ready. The problem is… I do not know where he intends to throw the grenade – at her or at the wall. _

He backed up, quietly sheathing his knife. As carefully as he could, he loosened the strap about his torso, pulling out his long-barreled rifle. Leon heard the hyena click her blaster into kill mode. 

“We sent ya the bottom of the barrel. Boss got tired of paying some of those louts to sit on their asses. Congratulations, you just trimmed down our payroll,” the hyena said savagely.

_Ugh. Even in the final days of the Lylat Wars, Andross wasn’t this crazy._

“Brutal,” Pigma laughed. “I like this boss of yours.”

_ If Pigma aims the grenade at the wall, it gives us an escape route. If he aims it at her, it might be enough to kill her and her two friends outright. But if it doesn’t work, he’s going to be killed._

Leon pondered for a moment if that was a bad thing.

_ I could wait this out and see if he dies._

He tried to envision what he would say to Wolf. None of the scenarios ended well. The lizard gave a muffled sigh.

_ Wolf seems to think we need him so I’ll try to get him through this alive. I need more distance._

He shuffled back, keeping underneath the row of glass cases as best as he could. Stomach scraping gently against the carpet, he crept backwards, trying to get a decent amount of distance. He kept his rifle in his hands, securing its weight against his chest as he crawled. He feared the long barrel would stick out from under the table but it thankfully was just short enough to stay concealed.

_ All I can do is provide fire at this point. I don’t think I can sneak behind either of them. Not without blowing my cover…._

“We can do this one of two ways, pig,” the hyena continued. “You can make this quick and just tell me where Wolf O’Donnell is. Or I can show you some real Eladardian hospitality and break your fingers bone by bone. Which is it?”

“Eh I like my fingers,” Pigma shrugged. “And I think I’ll like hearing you scream more.” His tone shifted. Leon could sense the tension in the air build. Soon, it would be time to move.

“Tough talk for someone who’s about to see how hot Hell really is,” the hyena snapped back.

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” Pigma laughed. “I’ve been at this too long to die in a shithole like this.”

Leon heard the swine exhale loudly, through clenched teeth, with a small, raging cry. A few shocked yells were cut off by the sound of an explosion. The glass case that Leon was underneath shivered from the impact. He pulled himself out, pointing his rifle at the malicious black smoke and firing. Pigma had kicked over a table and was crouching behind it for cover, unloading a few fiery red lasers at the clearing smoke. 

The baboon lay slumped against the tattered doorframe, blood seeping from shrapnel in his cheek and chest. The hyena and gecko had fallen back to the hallway, exchanging fire with angry sneers. Leon pulled his aiming reticle to his eye, aiming for his fellow reptilian. One shot and the gecko slumped to the ground.

“Another!?” the hyena snarled when she saw Leon, pointing her gun and popping off a few shots. “Shit… I need more back up!”

The lizard ducked behind a few cases, hearing the lasers singe their way through the fancy wood. He paused for a moment, fastening the strap of his rifle tightly against his thin torso. His palms found twin daggers, broad-bladed with a slight curve at their tips. They shone like diamonds when he nimbly stepped from behind his cover. Keeping low to the ground, he did his best to keep a line of cases obscuring the hyena’s view. His toe brushed shards of glass that had sprayed onto the ground from the crossfire but the carpet muffled their shrill scrapes. 

A peek at his swine companion and Leon quickly noticed that Pigma had pressed forward, using a statue of great, long-bodied dragon as a shield. The hyena’s blaster was trained on him. Leon crept forward, grip tightening upon the dull black hilts of his knives. He neared the corner, watching her confidently step into view. Her pearly white fangs bared at the hog with savage glee. When she took two more steps, turning her back towards Leon’s hiding spot, the assassin made his move. Feet moving silently against the tattered carpet, he poised his knives upward like twin scythes ready to crash down upon the hyena’s skull. 

“Gotcha!” the hyena snarled, turning and firing at the lunging chameleon.

Leon tried to twist away at the last moment but nothing saved him from the searing heat of the laser’s blast. It clipped his side, sending a flare of pain through his body. He landed a foot in front of the hyena, swiping up at her but she jumped back a few steps. Through the agony, he slashed at the hyena’s chest, the tip of his blade slicing just inches from her vest. His vivid irises met hers, staring into the gaping maw of her blaster. His foot kicked off the carpet and though his side screamed in pain, he leapt upwards and kicked the hyena in the chest. 

Footsteps approaching from the hall alerted him but he could not afford to even spare them a glance. He pursued the faltering hyena as she stumbled back. She pulled the trigger and Leon saw the shot careen into the ceiling. His dagger found her vest but the blow fell away like a pebble thudding against the side of a massive boulder.

_ Protective armor? Shit._

A flash dark metal blurred in his left peripherals and the world suddenly went sideways. He blinked and found his nose against the carpet, inhaling its musk. He rolled over in time to see Pigma body slam the hyena, catching her in the crook of his arm and tossing her outside into the hallway. Outside, he heard the footsteps growing louder. Something flew overhead and into the decrepit corridor. It hit the floor once then exploded into fire. This time, Leon could feel the manor’s structure churn underneath. 

“Wolf, are you there!?” Pigma shouted into his earchip. Leon could hear it in his own communication channel with a slight delay. His head was still spinning from the blow but his vision was clear enough to spy his fallen knives. He snatched them up, trying to steady himself and his eyesight.

“I can’t get Wolf to respond!” Pigma said to Leon.

_ What? _

“W-Wolf!?” Leon activated his own radio with a quick tap. Static greeted them. Desperately, he tried again. “Wolf!?”

“We gotta get outta here. Something ain’t right!” Pigma replied. “You got the necklace!?”

“Yes,” Leon replied. “But we aren’t leaving without Wolf and Andrew.”

The smoke in the hallway began to clear. Two dead bodies sat midway down the hall with lifeless eyes staring up at the unclean ceiling. A hole had opened up in the floor where the grenade had hit. Below, he could see into a darkened room lined with shelves. A quick glance up and down and the Venomian realized he did not see their hyena friend. Rounding the corner, however, was the cavalry that she had called in—armed to the teeth and firing as they ran towards the blasted doorframe. Leon shoved Pigma out of the way, pressing himself into the wall next to the hog.

“I got two grenades!” Pigma shouted. “Throw this one at the wall over there and I’ll chuck this at our friends in the hall.”

_ Since when have you ever been so resourceful? _Leon remarked silently, callously. _But I guess you had to be in order to get this far._

“And do what? Watch the building fall to pieces?!” the reptile asked the hog, a hiss in his voice.

“We gotta get outta here. We gotta regroup. Maybe Wolf and Andrew lost their radios. They could be outside, waitin’ on us,” Pigma shook his head. “We can’t go the way we came, that’s for certain. And I don’t wanna tango with that hyena anymore if she’s out there. Throw the grenade before they figure out how to get on this side and blast us to bits.”

_ Could it be true? Could Wolf and Andrew have really gotten out already?_

The reptile tossed a glance down the hall, towards Archie’s band of thugs on the other side of the hole. Even from a gander, he could tell that these were different than the ones they had been facing—they were cut from a different sort of bloodthirsty cloth. Dread covering his heart, the reptile took the grenade out of Pigma’s hand, making sure to send the hog a stabbing glare. With a scowl, the reptile tossed the explosive into the wall, shattering it and letting in Lylat’s blinding rays. Pigma’s grenade resounded as a heartbeat, and Leon felt the manor shift again under their feet. 

“Go, go, go!” Pigma yelled, booking it towards the opening in the wall. Leon hustled after him, skidding to a stop and looking down at the ground far below them. 

_ Three stories… _Leon was not afraid of heights but he knew that this was dangerous. _Is there something we could land on? A pond or something? _His eyes scanned the lawn and saw nothing of the sort.

“Down there!” Pigma pointed. The reptile’s eyes traced to where he was pointing at, spying the wall. It was devoid of thugs but a few had gathered in the courtyard below them. The assassin’s eyes flashed back to the wall. Leon’s heart sank. No. It was too far. Too far for even the spry and athletic assassin to make. The Venomian was certain of it. Certain that this was going to end in catastrophe.

“Pigma…” Leon began in a low voice but the swine was not listening.

“On 3…” Pigma began.

“Pigma, I don’t think…” Leon tried.

“1…” the hog counted.

“Pigma, wait, let us…” Leon said in a panic.

“2…” Pigma continued.

Something behind them was moving. Leon heard something crash. He heard the sounds of exerted gasps and grunts. The Venomian glanced back. One of the thugs had crossed the hole, with a blaster in hand. Two more were about to make the jump. The first one that had crossed hefted up his blaster into the firing position with a crooked smile.

“Go!” Leon shouted, grabbing Pigma’s shoulder and shoving him. With a cry, Pigma toppled off the third floor.

The assassin did not spare a second—he leapt after the descending hog with the air whipping from his lungs. As tempting as it was to look to the sky and pray either for a quick ending or for a painless landing, Leon kept his gaze on his destination. As cruel as it was, he did not look to see where his companion had landed. When his feet hit the wall’s top, the additional momentum flung him forward into a roll. His shoulder scraped uncomfortably against the stone but his feet knew to maintain his pace. He ran along the wall, listening to the sound of blasters fervently trying to find their mark. As lasers flew overhead, he caught sight of Pigma, who was limping his way towards the wall’s edge. 

_ Not this again._

The hog looked at him, flashing him a smile. He gave a salute then, much to Leon’s horror, jumped off the wall. 

_ He’s insane!_

Scampering to the edge, the reptile looked down to see in what twisted fashion the hog’s body had landed onto the hard, Eladardian ground. Instead, he saw the hog look up and wave at him, sitting in the back of a hovercar. It had a few laser holes burned into its side and the nose of it was crumpled in, but it looked operational. A few suspicious Pigma-sized dent was on its hood.

“C’mon, c’mon!”

_ He is either a genius or insane. I’m not sure which._

With a sharp inhale, Leon leapt, turning mid-air and sinking his daggers into the stone that made up the wall. The noise of metal on stone was deafening but Leon gritted his teeth through it. He landed a foot from the car’s trunk. Nimbly, he climbed in through the open window, flopping into the back. Pigma hit the accelerate and they jerked forward. Wincing, the reptile grabbed onto his injured side, breathing out a string of Venomian curses under his breath. 

“I know ya got dinged, but see if ya can’t find the other two,” Pigma said. “I’mma try to get us to somewhere safe in Corona.”

_ Is anywhere safe in that hellhole?_

Leon nodded, grimacing as he pulled his shirt up to look at his wounded side. He tapped his earchip, activating his radio.

“Wolf? Andrew? Can you hear me? We have the necklace,” Leon spoke tiredly into the microphone.

The voice that answered back was unfamiliar.

“New radio, who dis?”

Leon’s eyes narrowed. “I-I’m sorry?”

There was a snort of laughter on the other end. It swelled into high-pitched howls.

“Let me guessssssss, _you’re_ the one responsible for blowing my happy, humble little abode to itty-bitty pieces, aren’t you? Did ya have fun at least? Blowin’ my shit to pieces?”

Leon’s blood ran cold.

“Where’s Wolf!?”

“Oh, you’re looking for Wolfie are you? Weeeeeeell, he can’t come to the phone right now. I can take a message for ya, though!”

_ Archie. This must be the one Wolf kept talking about. If he has Wolf’s radio, then the worst has happened…_ His brightly toned gaze fell on Pigma, who tossed the reptile a panicked look over his shoulder. Clearly, he was hearing the conversation as well through his own earchip.

“Hey, hey, hey, you still with me? I already feel like we’ve got a connection, so please don’t hang up. I need you to help me decide somethin’,” Archie said on the other line. “What do you think Wolfie would look better as? A bathrobe or a blankie to cuddle at night? I’ll let _you_ pick, Mister!”

Heart thumping against his chest, he let his hand drop from his ear chip. Keeping his voice low, he looked to Pigma. The hog laughed but it did not sound like he was humored by anything at all. Wolf and Andrew were captured. Or, well, at least Wolf was captured. Andrew was dead for all they knew—a notion that made the reptile feel ill to his stomach. Sure, the boy was a brat inside and out, but the thought of him lying dead in Archie’s manor felt like a betrayal to Andross’s memory. Leon rubbed his pointed chin in thought. His breathing shuddered with emotion, his burnt side jolting with pain. The odds had been against them from the get-go. But now, things were worse…

Pigma’s laughter subsided, ending in an incredulous, sour smirk.

“Well, looks like it’s just you and me, Leon.”


	2. ... We're the Heroes Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want you to know, nothing is more terrifying that your fiance reading your SF fic and then accidentally sending a paragraph of it to your soon-to-be-mother-in-law.

If there was one thing that Leon excelled at, it was muscle memory. Pulling out a vial of bloodsealer, the lizard hastily applied it to his throbbing side. Teeth gnashed, his marred flesh tingled at the gel’s touch. It was not long before its numbing effect began to trickle through him and his taut expression gradually loosened. He peeled back his jacket and undershirt to take a quick look at the wound—it was a clear burn mark from laser fire. The lizard crinkled his snout at it, then shook his head in a silent lament.

_ I moved carelessly. This is my reward—justly earned._

After Archie’s decrepit manor fell out of view and Corona’s cramped streets had swallowed them whole, Leon felt his breath slowly slip out in a trembling sigh. He wished he could have said it was full of relief, but all he felt was tension keeping his back muscles taut. Thin fingers massaging his cheekbones and temples, the chameleon watched the crumbling, mostly abandoned buildings as they passed by. Ghostlike faces dwelled in the glassless windows, staring out at them. Instinctively, Leon veiled his face with his hand, fearing they might have been little spies for the so-called Baron. 

He staved off the hopelessness of their situation by dissecting their predicament. 

_ Wolf’s been captured. We can only assume Andrew is as well. We have weapons… but we’re not as well-equipped as we could be. Archie has us backpedaling. He’s had us backpedaling since Andrew wandered off. Andrew. Hm. Andrew wandered off with our weapons. Right. Pigma gave him the stuff, didn’t he… And Andrew never remembered anything like that happening._

His tiny pupils flitted to Pigma, furthering his dissection with narrowed eyes. The hog blissfully continued tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of the song on the radio. There were still questions that Leon wanted answered—questions that Wolf had been willing to overlook but the Venomian was not. His fingers softly tapped the handle of a knife at his hip. Perhaps Wolf had been too distracted to think of the possible traitor in their midst… After all, this would not have been the first time that the hog had backstabbed his own team.

_ I’ll wait until we’re alone. In the middle of the street with him at the wheel is too dangerous, _resolved the chameleon silently. He contented himself with watching out the window, taking in the dismal setting of Corona’s trashed roads.

Pigma was thankfully good at navigating the backroads, eventually pulling off to the side of an abandoned alleyway. He parked the car behind a suspiciously large crate, popping open the door and stumbling out. Without being instructed to, Leon departed the vehicle as well. A fresh breeze blew from the north, staving off the stagnant air that had accumulated in the car’s cabin.

“Fuck,” the swine launched into a fervent string of swears that made the Venomian’s scales prickle. A gander over at Pigma and Leon saw what there was to complain about. The hog’s leg was swollen at the knee.  


_ Blood sealer cannot fix that. Not that it matters. I am not sure he’ll be needing his leg after I’m finished with him…_

If there was a chance to catch the swine off guard, it had unfurled itself perfectly before him. As Pigma gingerly ran his hands over his angered, violet kneecap, Leon fluidly unsheathed one of his combat knives—a plain black blade with a hilt that matched the blade’s tone. Pigma’s back was to the lizard. His uneven breathing betrayed the pain ebbing from his injured limb. The corner of Leon’s mouth turned with glee.

_ I could keep him around to help me get Wolf back… no. A disturbing thought. I do not need this traitor sabotaging my plans. For all we know, he tipped our hand to the bear before we even arrived at the manor. And he lamed our chances by having a drunken Andrew hide the bulk of our weapons. Yes, this is all coming together now. _

“Heh, I know a guy that could probably help with it,” Pigma said, not turning back to Leon. The lizard hesitated before realizing the swine was talking about his knee. “Got some contacts here in town. Wolf wasn’t the only one who spent a time in this shit hole.”

_An apt way to describe your grave, hog._

Silent hands. Silent breath. Leon Powalski faced Pigma. Vibrant eyes devoid of emotion. Knife in hand. He raised the blade like a guillotine. One movement. A rise… and then the blade fell, its lethal edge aimed for the back of Pigma’s round head.

Years of training with a blade had tempered Leon’s muscles, refining them until he felt as though the blade was a part of himself. His father had instilled discipline in him. His sister had never been an easy opponent, teaching him that mercy was an illusion. There was no mercy in the real world. There was just those who lived and those who died. 

Pigma caught his wrist, his strength halting the lizard’s stab. It happened so fast that Leon had missed it. When had his quarry discovered his intentions? Leon knew better than to move against Pigma’s brute strength. He tried to move in tandem with the hog but Pigma’s muscle felt like an unmovable boulder. Leon could not see Pigma’s movement but he could feel it. A blink later and Leon’s back had slammed into the brick wall behind him. It was not enough to wind him but lightning bolts of pain crackled throughout his body.

“Well, well, well,” Pigma remarked with a haggard breath. Right—the kneecap, it was hurting him, draining his energy and attention. Leon noted it. Pigma straightened his posture, accusingly glaring at the lizard. “And people think _I’m_ the shady one?”

“You did something with those weapons. And the Cornerians knew where to find us in empty space. And Archie… Archie knew we were coming,” Leon’s eyes narrowed to malicious slits. He dropped into an attack position, his tail curling. “You have been trying to set us up ever since Venom.”

“Cornerians?” Pigma asked. It was so convincing that Leon _almost _believed him.

“When they attacked our carrier. I saw who authorized them to send us messages. It was _you_,” Leon said accusingly. “And Wolf was too focused on Archie to do anything about it. But unfortunately for you, I’m not him.” 

“Oh, that,” Pigma remarked. It had not escaped Leon’s notice that the swine had a gun’s handle close at hand. “Heh, didn’t look too hard, didja? They had masked their code under a Venomian one. Made it look like someone sending a distress signal. Pretty clever, I might add…”

“Nonsense!” Leon snapped but felt his cheeks warm. He did not want to admit he had not bothered to look through the audit in its entirety—he had seen who had opened their communication channel and that was all.

“You say that… but ya haven’t stabbed me yet,” Pigma retorted with a cheeky grin. Leon’s grip tightened around the handle of his knife instinctively. The hog shrugged. “Dunno why you’d think I’d sell ya out—and to _Corneria_ out o’ all people. It’s not like _you’re_ the one that sold one of Corneria’s greatest fuckin’ heroes out to the _big bad guy_.” He gave another flippant shrug.

“What are you saying?” Leon shook his head, biting back the urge to lunge at the swine. For once, Pigma was… making a small semblance of sense, though the Venomian would never admit it.

“I’m sayin’ if there’s bounties on our heads, they’re gonna want me before you. Hell, maybe even before _Wolf_,” Pigma spat back. “General Pepper was only one of James’s best friends. I would know, after all.”

“But what about the weapons?” Leon asked.

“Those…” Pigma’s gaze flitted away for a moment.

_Got him._

“I sold ‘em,” Pigma shook his head and Leon could feel his anger ignite—along with his surprise. Pigma guiltily winced. “Sometimes yer owed debts. Sometimes ya owe debts. It’s just how life works.”

“You sold them to pay off a debt?” Leon asked, completely flabbergasted.

“Didja want _three_ groups trying to murder us instead of two?” Pigma asked with a huff. “Andrew saw me pocketing some stuff and he got testy. But the dumbass was drunk, so he was gonna believe whatever I had to say.”

“You lied,” Leon’s brows furrowed.

“Well, I knew Wolf wouldn’t care much for me doin’ it, so, yeah,” Pigma nodded. “And I ain’t ashamed. Look at the shit he’s in now. All ‘cause he went around pissin’ people off and not paying up where the payment was due.” He gave yet another shrug. “Besides, it’s not like we don’t have a bunch of weapons. Andross gave us the best tech in his little empire.”

“You almost got us killed,” Leon argued. He realized he had let his posture lax, his arms at his sides. Was this Pigma’s grand plan? To talk his way out of his just desserts? 

“But we didn’t die, did we?” Pigma shook his head. “Heh… I get your suspicions but they’re misplaced. How’d backstabbin’ ya benefit me in a place like this, huh? The way I see it, we got two options—the option yer gonna like and the option yer gonna hate. We can either run from this shit hole, nab a plane, try to get as far away from Lylat as we can… or we can go back and try to save the other two because honor or whatever.”

“Or I kill you now and get the other two myself,” Leon said coldly.

“Three,” Pigma conceded. “But you’re outnumbered, right? And ya know it. So you need me.” His toothy grin flashed. Leon felt his blood boil in his veins.

_He’s right. Getting back to Archie’s manor would be easy by myself but breaking Wolf and Andrew out feels… well, certainly not impossible but certainly not possible either. Even with just the two of us… it will be difficult…_

Uncertainty pooled in his stomach, mingling with dread. Part of him wanted to lash out, to stab and swipe away Pigma’s smug grin until it was bloody shreds on his face. Part of him wanted to show him the Venomian way of living—where you could get stabbed and bleed out and there not even be a reason for why. But Leon knew Pigma was right. There were two courses of action they could physically take, but only one Leon could muster. He could not fathom running. Not now. Not knowing that the other two were in grave danger.

“I didn’t think you cared so much about the other two,” Leon remarked, sheathing his knife. “Perhaps I misjudged you. But make no mistake, when this is all said and done, Wolf will demand an answer from you about the weapons and the Cornerians. And whether or not he shows mercy… Well, that will be entirely up to him.”

“Heh, whatever you say,” Pigma shrugged. “Glad to know yer not gonna try to kabob my skull again. I kinda like it without the knives in it.”

Wordlessly, the two made their way back to their respective sides of their stolen vehicle. Leon sighed as he opened the door, plopping down into the cushioned seat next to the swine with a dismayed expression. His red-orange irises made their way to a pile of trash sitting on the side of the road, letting his vision glisten over with thought—thought that was quickly broken by the hog’s stare.

Curiosity reigning Pigma’s expression, the swine remarked, “You know… I’ve noticed something about you, Leon. You’re not nearly as cold as you used to be when this whole thing started.”

“What do you mean?” Leon asked, folding his arms over his chest.

“I remember you back before the Lylat Wars started,” Pigma answered, pulling away from the alley. “Barely said a word. Always shadowing Andross. It was like you were… a robot or somethin’. 

“And?” Leon asked testily.

“Heh just figured someone as cold as you would’ve left when ya had the chance. Didn’t think _you_ cared about the team much. Well… not until _lately_,” Pigma replied, his side-eye feeling like an accusing stab to the lizard’s gut. Leon frowned at him and the swine chuckled, continuing. “Can’t help but wonder what happened to the stoic assassin that never left Andross’s side.”

The Venomian’s exhale fell harshly from his mouth in a soft scoff of incredulousness. Pigma was baiting him. He could feel the haughty hog’s confidence as though it was a tangible ooze seeping from his body. Leon rolled his eyes, glancing out the window.

“Andross commanded me to join Star Wolf. I did not do so by choice,” Leon said. “He told me to ensure that Wolf had everything he needed in order to carry out his missions successfully.” _And I failed. At every turn._ “That was his last order to me. I intend to carry it out.”

“How noble of ya,” Pigma smirked at him. “Probably explains why you look like a lost puppy whenever he’s not around. Wolf, I mean.”

“I don’t know what you’re getting at,” Leon said, voice dropping dangerously low. “Ugh. Let us talk about something a bit more important. Where are you driving to?”

“Heh, you’re about to find out. Wolf isn’t the only one in this town with friends,” Pigma snorted.

He steered the car to the right, departing the main road. They went under an old bridge that Leon could have guessed had once been used for train transportation. A station sat nearby, unattended and empty. Their car passed it by, turned to the left, and slowed. Leon could see that Pigma had taken him to a dead-end street, lined with old storefronts. Pigma pulled the car over. He opened the door roughly, slamming it with reckless abandon. Leon followed him from the car to the next store down—a run-down shop with a faded red canopy. Words had been emblazed upon it long ago in white, but they were stained now with dirt. Still, he could make each letter out, spelling the words “East Side Clinic” in a thick, fat font. A bell chimed when Pigma opened the door.

The air was stagnant inside, smelling faintly of air freshener that had been utilized to stave off the stench that came with a lack of an air conditioner. Leon was certain that the walls were coated in dirt. The grout between the tiles looked like it had not been cleaned in ages. A wilting, small tree sat in a clay pot in the corner, next to some benches. A small central table sat near the benches, with a few strewn magazines and a tissue box. Leon’s face burned when he saw pictures of the Star Fox team on the cover of one magazine, along with the words “CORNERIA WINS LYLAT WARS”. 

“Is it safe for us to be here?” the lizard asked apprehensively, but his companion ignored him.

Pigma strolled up to the counter, leaning against it. Leon noted that it was unoccupied but a bell had been left to summon a clerk. Pigma slammed his fist into it so roughly that Leon was surprised to see it still intact when the hog lifted his hand. 

“Coming!” croaked an old lady’s voice from the back. A few heavy, plopping sounding steps ensued, followed by the sight of an elderly emu lady, her head topped with a comical, wavy blonde wig. Her large carmine eyes gave Pigma a look over before turning mercilessly to Leon. She chewed bubblegum loudly, looking fairly unimpressed. Leon noted that her nametag, clipped lop-sided on her left, spelled the name “DELILA”.

“Can I help you?”

Leon let Pigma do the talking.

“Heh, long time no see, Delila!” Pigma exclaimed. Leon might have believed for a second that they were good old friends if he had not caught the hog’s pale gaze flit down momentarily to the name tag. “Is the doctor in today?”

“He is. You wanna do a walk-in?” Delila asked, grabbing a clipboard and a few pieces of paper for him to fill out.

“Ehhhhh sure, we’ll call it that,” Pigma nodded. He accepted the clipboard and paperwork gratefully when she handed it to him, but did not bother to take it to the seating area. Still leaning on the counter, he scribbled down his information in quick, messy letters. Delila continued to look unimpressed.

_ Pigma… Not an ounce of social graces dwells within you…_

When he handed it back, she took it with a quirked brow. Nevertheless, she shrugged and said, “I’ll call ya when the doctor is ready.”

Leon awkwardly took a seat next to Pigma on the uncomfortable bench. Delila began to rummage loudly through her various filing cabinets. After a few moments, Leon became aware that she was probably just doing it to make noise to fill the uncomfortable silence. He sighed, massaging his jaw.

_ This seems so trivial compared to what we were doing just an hour ago. Ugh. And who’s to say Archie doesn’t have eyes on this place?_ The lizard glanced about the waiting area nervously—trying to spot signs of any suspicious looking cameras. He tried to tell himself that Pigma surely had thought of that before he had driven them over, but somehow, Leon doubted it.

“This place is drab,” Leon commented quietly to Pigma, fiery gaze moving from the wilting plant to the hog’s swollen kneecap.

“Remind you of home?”

“Venom is much different than this place.”

“Still wrecked an’ ruined…. Say, Leon, you could get seen while you’re here too. I know ya got shot earlier.”

Disdainfully, Leon wrinkled his snout, glancing about the facility.

“I’d sooner let a child operate on me. I am fine, Pigma, I have already applied medicines to my wound.”

“Heh, if you say so.”

More thudding steps alerted Leon, his triangular head swiveling in their direction. A large bison loomed in the doorway leading to the back patient rooms, a pair of spectacles atop his curved snout. His shoulders almost touched each side of the doorframe as he stood in it, staring over his glasses at Pigma. There was evident suspicion in his eyes. Leon’s stomach twisted into a knot.

“Pigma Dengar.”

“Heyo Doc!” Pigma hopped up jovially.

“Wait,” the bison held up a hand, then gestured to a sign at the door. It read, in all red, capital letters: “NO BLASTERS PAST THIS POINT”. The doctor’s merciless gaze fell back onto the hog. “I won’t have a repeat of _last_ time.”

_ Last time? _

“Awww doc, that was seven years ago! I’m a changed man!” Pigma replied.

“Uh huh,” the doctor did not look convinced.

Pigma reluctantly handed his hulking gun to Leon, as well as his belt. The swine gave a wink then followed the bison back into the room, leaving Leon to dwell in further awkward silence along with Delila. Setting Pigma’s blaster on the table next to a withering cluster of daisies, Leon folded his arms, letting his gaze gloss over. His vision faded until his surroundings were a blur.

_ If you had told me I would be in this situation before the Lylat Wars began, I would have reconsidered signing up for Andross’s war. It’s not losing the war that concerns me. It is waiting in this cold room, babysitting that rambunctious hog._

He closed his eyes. 

_ Once we are done here, we will have to figure out how to best get to Wolf and Andrew. Will they keep them in the manor? Hm, that’s what they did with the crocodile, so it’s likely. But Archie seems to have a special vendetta against Wolf. He’ll likely do something out of the ordinary for him. A slow torture… or perhaps a grandiose execution. Regardless, I feel like we’re just flailing in the dark here. We need to get insight on what the enemy is doing. _

The bars. Of course. Archie’s men had frequented that bar… the one that they had busted up when they had gone to look for Andrew. Leon sighed. There had to be others—Lylatians loved getting drunk and forgetting things. His fingers rapped against his angled chin in thought. Yes, this seemed like a plausible start. But first, he had to wait for--

“Hey! Hey, stop! What are you… PIGMA, DROP THE GUN!”

_ Oh for the love of…_

It was not Pigma’s voice—it was the doctor’s. Leon’s gaze flitted to Delila. She glanced up from her paperwork, the image of suspicion. She began to get up but Leon shot her a cold, warning glare, grabbing Pigma’s blaster. The emu gave a gasp, holding up her hands to indicate she was standing down.

“Stay,” he commanded coldly then sprinted for the door leading into the back. He kicked it open, rushing down the white halls. 

“Just gimme the goods and nobody’s gotta get hurt!” Pigma’s voice hollered over the sound of a melee fight. Leon followed the noise, the swine’s heavy blaster held in both of his hands. He barged through the door, pointing it at the origin of the noise.

Pigma stood over the bison doctor, a boot planted on the man’s chest. In his left hand sat a few vials, filled with a transparent blue liquid. His right hand sported a slim pistol, its barrel aimed directly at the doctor’s head. He glanced over at Leon, genuinely surprised to see him. 

“You can’t just take that!” the doctor yelled, trying to raise up in protest. Pigma’s boot slammed hard against the doctor’s chest.

“Eh, says who? I’m hurtin’ and I know yer about to charge me an arm an’ a leg for this shit. That’s how you shady clinics work. Well, sucks to be you. I’ll be takin’ this and you’ll be lettin’ me walk out the door. Or else the next person needin’ a doctor’s visit is gonna be you!” Pigma threatened, shaking the pistol at the bison’s face.

“Okay! Okay! You can take it!” the bison yelped, shying away from the gun. “Just don’t shoot!”

“Thought so!” Pigma said smugly, whacking the handle of the gun against the doctor’s face. The bison went limp instantly, knocked unconscious.

“Where did you even hide that?” Leon asked the swine.

“Heh, don’t worry about it,” Pigma shrugged with a shit-eating grin. “I got what we needed. We can head out now.”

When they made their way out of the clinic, they passed by Delila frantically hiding behind her chair. Leon took careful note of the phone she was trying to conceal under her feathery arm. There was little doubt in his mind that she was trying to call the police—police that were likely in the pockets of Archie Ursus and his deplorable gang. He thought about popping a shot into her head to stifle the cops on their trail but Pigma eagerly bounded out the door towards their commandeered vehicle. The lizard resorted to a cold, pointed glare at the emu then followed his comrade outside. The swine nearly toppled into the driver’s seat, one of his hands instinctively going to his knee.

“What did you do all that for?” Leon grumbled. “The secretary is calling the cops on us.”

“This shit,” Pigma held up a vial. “It’s illegal in places like Corneria City and Katina. It’s a… sort of a steroid, I guess. Makes you so numb you can’t feel shit but you feel happy the whole time.”

“No wonder it’s illegal,” Leon remarked sourly. “Are you sure you should be doing that? Will it… affect your senses in other ways?”

“Eh, last time I took it, I felt the best I ever had,” Pigma shrugged. He inserted the vial into a syringe that Leon did not doubt he had swiped from that poor bison doctor and promptly stabbed himself in the leg with it—with such force that even Leon cringed.

“I cannot help but feel,” Leon began slowly, dragging his glare from the syringe to Pigma. “As though this was a big mistake…”

“I ain’t gettin’ anywhere with this leg,” Pigma replied, his tone shifting to a more somber tune. “It’s this or…” 

A siren in the not-so-far-distance cut him off. Leon’s head snapped into the direction of the clinic, where the emu was crouched behind her desk, nervously peeking up with the phone pressed to her head. Her wig was lopsided, threatening to drop off the left side of her head. His fiery eyes met hers and he flashed his pointed teeth at her in a menacing growl.

“Drive!” barked Leon, looking through the back window as twin police cars rolled up, sporting the words “CORONA CITY POLICE” on the sides. Their red and blue lights flashed with the wail of their sirens.

“That was fast!” Pigma yelped, stomping on the accelerate. The truck lurched forward, slamming Leon’s back into the front console. 

“Watch it!” the lizard snapped, unfastening the belt holding his rifle snugly around his torso.

He had almost readied it when the back window shattered, sending a spray of shards into his lap. The lizard gave a hiss, pointing the long nose of his rifle at their pursuers. A few pieces of glass fell into the floorboards with a cluster of clinks. 

The twin police cars roared after them, the frontmost one manned by two canines. Leon could scarcely discern their facial features through the tinted window, but the one on the passenger’s side popped out through the window with a blaster in hand. He looked thuggish with an underbite and a pair of cropped ears-- distinctly different than Corneria’s usual bright-eyed cadets with hopes and dreams. It made a bit easier when Leon unleashed a blast into the car’s windshield. In the wake of the ear-drum splitting sound of the entire windshield giving away was the unmistakable noise of their car’s brakes being thrown. The car skidded for a few moments, its tail end waving about back and forth before the driver regained their senses. Despite flooring the accelerate, it was clear that the delay had bought Pigma and Leon a few precious yards of headway. 

_ Excellent._

All they had to do was lose the two cars. Simple enough, right?

“Hang on!” Pigma warned him just a fraction too late, swerving to the left.

Leon’s shoulder slammed into the right hand window and his snout wrinkled angrily. He thought for a split second to chastise his companion but found the incoming laser fire far more distracting. Ducking behind the backrest of his seat, he readied his rifle to fire again. He thought to lift his eye to the aiming scope but the road was too bumpy. Leon feared he would hit himself in the eye if he tried to use the scope, so he resolved to eyeball it without the aiming reticle. Two potholes later and the lizard was convinced he made the right call.

Pigma jerked the truck to the right suddenly, directing the car down a narrow alleyway. Wheels splashing through puddles, the hog expertly steered the car between a set of tall garbage dumps. Leon inhaled deeply, lifting his rifle. A second shot blazed through their open back window, crashing into the radio. It sputtered out with smoke and Pigma looked visibly distraught. Leon returned fire quickly, sniping a second shot through the windshield. It nailed the driver in the chest, causing the car to lose control. Leon watched it collide into a trash can, its contents spilling everywhere.

“Got them,” the lizard announced triumphantly, settling back down in his seat. He took a gander about the alleyway, which spilled onto a road. Judging by how the buildings thinned, he assumed they were nearing the edge of the city. “I hope you know where you’re going.”

“Heh, we’re almost home free,” Pigma grinned back at him. He thought to ask what the swine meant by “home” but Leon did not get the chance to. More sirens flared up-- seemingly from nowhere. Leon took a look out the window to their left. Pigma was merging onto an old highway, the lane occupied by an angry looking cop in his car. There were few other cars on the highway-- most of them braking to avoid the cop.

“Is this your idea of “home free”?” Leon snarled.

“Uhh… uhhh…!” Pigma stammered. Leon felt the truck suddenly surge forward with impossible speed for its hulking form. His hands seized a handle fastened above the door, his rifle falling into his lap horizontally. The hog swerved into the lane when he had gotten far enough ahead of the cop car, the vehicle rocking back and forth by the time he whipped it back into a straight course. Leon’s grip on the handle was like a vice, loosening only after a few painfully long seconds. He took up his rifle again but something else caught his eye. 

The shrill wail of the sirens could do little to block out the sound of helicopter blades whirring. Each passing loud tick of the blades was felt in the lizard’s chest. Grimly, he directed his rifle’s nose from the car to the helicopter.

“What’s that sound?” Pigma asked, eyes flicking to the rear view mirror. They stretched wide with realization. “Whaaaaat!? How’d they get one of those?!”

“It is a poor planet, not an abandoned one,” Leon snapped. Lasers rained into the ground, trailing less than a foot from the back bumper of their stolen vehicle. Leon knew they would be upon them soon. “Get us some cover.”

“On it!” Pigma replied. He took the off ramp at a speed Leon was certain was over the speed limit but at this point, that seemed like the least of their worries. More laserfire peppered their bumper, razing through the bed of the truck and burning holes. The cop car chased at a distance, the helicopter hovering just over it.

_ We cannot lose them on the highway or in the city. A bulky truck like this will stand out in a crowd and the helicopter can provide an aerial view of where we are. _

More sirens sounded in the distance as they made their way onto yet another ill-maintained road, its surface haunted by potholes and grievous cracks. Seconds after they cleared the winding down off ramp and jolted onto a main Coronan road, Pigma jolted the truck forward, scraping between two cars and riding the center line dividing the lanes. Sparks flew in their wake and the lizard was certain he smelled something burning. Leon waited for Pigma to stabilize the car’s trajectory, then he aimed for the car behind them. The first shot dinged their bumper-- the result of Pigma swerving their truck to the left to dodge a car. Leon’s breath was lined with dark Venomian curses, his scaled brow furrowed as he aimed once more. Before he could get the second shot fired, the cop had fired upon them. The truck shuddered and the side view mirror on Leon’s side erupted into shrapnel and glass. Smoke billowed from the back of the truck, obscuring half of Leon’s view on the pursuers. From the pitch black of the smoke came a green blast, directly into the truck’s cabin. Leon saw a flash of emerald light moments before it hit, fearing that it would be the last thing he saw. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the barrel of his gun had been reduced to a melted mess. 

_ They hit my rifle!_ The lizard felt his blood searing with rage. He lowered the ruined gun, angrily looking to Pigma.

“Any grenades?” Leon asked darkly, dreading his own words.

“Are you serious?” Pigma asked. One-handed, he steered the truck down the road, whirring between lanes. Leon could see that a stoplight was ahead-- a stoplight with a dense cluster of cars waiting for their turn. They were not going to make it past them. Not without some clever thinking.

“We’re not going to lose them otherwise,” Leon said. As if on cue, a spray of lasers coursed overhead, scorching through the top of the truck’s ceiling. Pigma yelped in horror and Leon threw himself against the door, almost accidentally opening it. A series of small holes marred the floorboards, smelling of burnt carpet. 

“Here!” Pigma handed him a grenade hastily, fighting to keep the truck on course. 

_ Perfect. Do I throw it out of the back? _

The possibility of accidentally chucking it into the back of their own truck bed made Leon’s scales crawl. He rolled down his window instead, holding the grenade in the palm of his hand. Leon’s next breath was a sharp inhale. Before Andross had come to Venom, explosives had been a rarity, found sometimes in the old abandoned Cornerian colonies. Leon had never practiced much with them, not until he had been assigned to the Star Wolf team. Throwing the grenade at the incoming Archie goons in a hallway had been one thing but tossing it at the cops in a moving vehicle on an unsteady road was another. He prayed his aim was true and threw it with an abrupt breath out. The grenade flew from his hands, soaring at a curved angle towards the back end of the truck. Leon’s eyes followed its trajectory, his heartbeat deafening. He watched it curve, falling towards the back of the truck bed, clipping its rim. Leon’s eyes widened as the grenade tipped over the rim… and vanished in a blinding flash of light.

Moments before darkness overcame his vision, he felt the truck surge forward, carried airborne by the explosion. He heard a brief shrill scream from Pigma and he was certain he was screaming too-- somewhere beyond the sound of metal bending and breaking. His wing mate’s cry echoed in his eardrums until he lost consciousness. 

* * *

_The Hlraskrei village had been made from an old Cornerian colony. Its sleek metal buildings had fallen into a state of decay but what the Venomians could not properly maintain, they did their best to replace with what was around them. His home had been in a large building with many halfway walls on the inside -- Andross had later called it a “grocery store” but Leon had failed to learn what that meant until he had gotten to visit another planet for the first time. Eventually, Leon realized it was the same thing as their village bazaars, just indoors and with stable electricity. _

_ Leon stood in the doorway of his home-- a skeleton of another civilization in the eyes of some, but home to him. The walls were lined with their trophies. A few skulls of the local fauna sat over their hearth, baring eternal snarls in death. His father’s prized rifle sat atop the mantle he had crafted from Venomian oak, carving elegant serpentine designs around it. Leon walked in, looking towards where a hefty black cauldron sat over a red fire, a marrow soup broiling as Leon’s sire sat next to his new mate, a broad-shouldered gunsmith that had learned all he could from pictures left behind in a Cornerian book. They sat next to each other, enjoying the warmth and smiling. Leon’s sire stood up and at first, Leon wondered if he saw him. Oblivious to his son’s presence, his sire walked towards the cauldron, stirring it a few times. Leon opened his mouth to greet them both, but nothing came out. He frowned, then looked to where his sister was trimming fat off of one of her recent most kills. In the span of a blink, Leon realized she was in her Venomian uniform, the emblem of Andross emblazoned upon a badge at her chest. _

_ “Hello, Brother,” Sorca, who had ended up taking the name Sasha Powalski, said. She did not look up from her work. “Have you come to join us for dinner?”_

_ “Sorca,” Leon said with a pause, looking down at the animal she had butchered. Blood pooled under it unnaturally. His gaze narrowed. “Shouldn’t you be with the…” He paused, remembering that Andross was dead. _

_ “Father got worried when you did not come home after the Emperor had fallen,” Sorca ignored him. Leon cast a strange look back towards his sire and his mate, who were embracing with their noses touching. Sorca continued, “The capital would surely fall, we knew. But we had a dream. A dream that Andross had given to us. A dream of a better life.” _

_ Her carnelian eyes snapped to Leon, a single question hissing from her lips._

_ “Where were you, Brother?”_

_ There was more blood around the animal she cut into. It dripped off the table, pooling around his feet. Leon backed a step out of instinct, his red-orange gaze moving from the cascading blood to his sister with the butcher’s knife. The closer he looked, the more he could see that her uniform was stained dark red. _

_ “All you did was follow that wolf. I saw how you looked at him. The moment the Emperor put you on his team, your attention shifted from the dream to… to whatever that pirate had to say!” Sorca snarled. “Did you ever think twice about us when you flew away?”_

_ Her knife swung and its strike was not meant for the animal before her. Leon caught her wrist, throwing his pitiful weight against her with a hiss. She shoved him back-- she had always been the stronger of the two, ever since they were kids. Sorca charged at him, feet splashing in the pools of blood on the floor. The bloodied knife ripped across his nose, blinding him with agony. He fell back, grabbing his face. Between his long fingers, he could see her approaching, madness in her eyes and knife held overhead. With a bestial cry, she stabbed down and the last thing he saw was the tip of the blade._

* * *

Leon jolted upright, feeling pain streak through his limbs like thousands of lightning bolts. He gasped, one of his hands going to his face. His fingers trailed over cloth that had been pressed to his snout, feeling the adhesive on its edges. A bandage? The lizard blinked in surprise, letting his hands wander to other parts of his body. His tail was still attached. His arms and legs seemed attached too, but his back ached horribly. He shuddered. If this was death, then it felt an awful lot like being alive. 

_I suppose all of that was a dream. Is my subconscious trying to guilt me into going back to Venom? Back to that land of carnage? _He had wondered for a while what his family would do when the Cornerians came to squash the rest of the Venomian empire. The logic answer would have been to run and he trusted they were smart enough to realize that. Beyond that, he supposed a return to the jungles seemed… well, like a distant goal. One that could not be accomplished until, as Wolf put it, “the heat died down”. He was part of Star Wolf, after all, and their bounties were likely highest on the Cornerian’s priority list. Especially because of Pigma…

_Pigma…_ Leon thought, memories of the car chase flooding back. He looked around the dark room, realizing after a few moments that he was in a bedroom. Pictures lay around on desks. They depicted a family of sheep. Leon picked one picture up, looking it over with a menacing scowl. They seemed so happy, in overalls and covered in soot. Simple folk, he wagered. Likely no idea they were helping a criminal...

The door cracked open, letting a sliver of golden light in. Leon looked to it immediately, taking note of a small silhouette peering in. He began to remove the covers over his legs. One of them was bandaged from ankle to knee, and the other seemed fine. He grabbed a nearby chair for support as he rose to his full height-- dwarfing the small silhouette in the doorway. A gasp resonated from its direction and the door opened fully. Leon grabbed the closest thing he could reach-- a simple side table lamp-- and began towards the shadow, fear dictating his moves. The shadow was definitely not Wolf, Pigma, or Andrew, so he knew it had to be an enemy. Everything on Eladard seemed like an enemy.

His grip on the lamp was unsteady and as he swung it at the shadow, the power cord got caught on something. The lamp skirting from his hands, missing its mark by a longshot. Light fell upon the silhouette’s owner, a lamb child who quickly turned and ran bleating away. Leon stood there dumbly for a few moments, watching the child retreat around a corner.

“Whoa there,” an unknown voice remarked. A few footsteps later and a grey-furred ram appeared-- one that Leon faintly recognized from the pictures in the bedroom. The ram stopped, looking Leon over with eyes that hardened in a tired, bitter way. The lamb stood in front of him, wrapped protectively in one of his arms. She looked to be about five years old and was dressed up in a lacey pink and white dress with flowers. Twin bows adorned her floppy ears.

“You’re awake,” the ram stated. “About time, too. You managed out of that one without too many injuries.”

Leon uncomfortably glanced about the hallway, noticing how it was lined with pictures and a wreath of blue flowers. Judging from the way the petals looked, they seemed fake and made of a soft fabric. The lizard cautiously stepped from the shadowy doorway and into the hall. Each step felt a bit pained but he admittingly felt better than he had suspected he would. 

“Your friend’s downstairs. He’s fine too,” the ram added. “He’s been fillin’ us in on what’s going on.”

_Friend? Oh… Pigma._

“I see,” Leon said with a nod. 

The ram beckoned him to follow and Leon soon found himself trailing after the ram and the little lamb down a set of creaky wooden stairs. Her eyes wandered curiously back to Leon but judging from the way she gripped the ram’s hand, Leon could tell she was still a bit afraid of him. The stairs spilled into a dining room and kitchen area, which seemed cramped and smelled distinctly of home cooking. A ewe stood near the oven, wearing a floral-patterned apron. Two other lambs were nearby-- one “supervising” the cookie jar and the other one curiously staring up at Leon.

Pigma sat at the kitchen table across from two curious sorts. The first was an elderly tortoise with small thin-rimmed glasses atop his stubby nose. The second was a wiry coyote with a stained white shirt and wild yellow eyes. They both looked to Leon in surprise when he reached the end of the stairs. 

“Ahhhh, Leon, yer awake!” Pigma said with a grin. He had a mug in front of him but its content looked suspiciously like beer. Leon quirked a brow at him. The swine gestured for him to come over. “Man, ya look pretty rough. I guess ya got hit the hardest when the truck flipped.”

“How did we…?” Leon asked, turning from Pigma to the ram.

“I saw you on the run from the cops. When the explosion happened, I guess you flipped the truck and took out the car and the helicopter too. I… I pulled you from the wreckage,” the ram said gravely. “I would’ve taken you both to the hospital, but Archie’s men own the joint. No one goes in or leaves without crossing paths with a spy there. You would have been right back to square one.”

“Why…?” Leon asked the ram, eyes narrowing.

“Oh can it for once, Leon. Sit down,” Pigma waved at him and the lizard reluctantly sat next to his wing mate, across the table from the coyote. He smiled pleasantly at the lizard, left eye twitching. 

“So turns out, Archie kinda sucks at running Corona,” Pigma began, taking a sip from his mug. “Guess the old mayor went missin’ a few years back and Archie strong-armed his way to the top. The Cornerians never really cared to come around and straighten everythin’ out. The Lylat Wars were their main focus.”

“Heh and now that the war’s done an’ gone, people are thinkin’ General Pepper might wisen up and help us poor folk in Corona, but I don’t see that happenin’ any time soon,” the old tortoise creaked. He was wearing an old off-white polo shirt that hung too big on his scrawny form and a lopsided bow tie that did not go well with his attire at all. “War’s messy business. Could take years to get everythin’ settled.”

The ram slid Leon a glass of water wordlessly, then took up a seat next to the tortoise. He gruffly stared ahead at the two Star Wolf pilots, curled hand supporting his chin. The coyote on his other side still said nothing, licking its lips with a pink tongue.

“Why did you help us?” Leon repeated, casting a suspicious look from the glass before him to the ram sitting across the table. 

“I didn’t poison you. Don’t even know how to do somethin’ like that,” the ram shook his head and Leon gave a tentative sip, only after Pigma reassured him it was fine. A gloomy sigh passed the ram’s lips. “Name’s Orvis Fleece. I don’t make it a habit to rescue wanted criminals. But…” His gaze darkened. “The mayor was my brother.”

“You want revenge,” Leon observed, taking another sip.

“I guess you could call it that,” Orvis replied steadily. “I don’t know what happened to ‘em. But I know that… he probably isn’t alive. And it’s that damn bear’s fault.”

“Kids, why don’t you go watch your shows?” the ewe near the oven said, ushering the three children from the room. She cast a worried look towards Orvis, but then went back to what she was doing in the kitchen. 

“I asked Herb here to patch you both up for me. He’s been a doctor for the local miners for forty years now,” Orvis said, gesturing to the tortoise. 

“I reckon you’ll be right as rain, even after all o’ that. You were lucky to make it out o’ that,” Herb said with a small dip of his head. 

Leon’s narrowed eyes went from Herb to Orvis. He drank down the rest of his water. This was a strange turn of events he had not predicted, but not an unwelcome one. It certainly was better than trying to fish for information at a local bar, where they were likely to be recognized by Archie’s thugs. 

“So do you want to come along?” Leon asked the ram carefully, trying to feel out their supposed rescuer.

“No. I’m afraid I would hold you both back. I’m a simple man. Mining is my trade and I… I have a family to look out for,” Orvis shook his head. “I can’t fight but I figured I would do what I could to make sure that bastard meets his maker.”

_I suppose asking for a militia rising up to distract Archie’s men would be too easy. _

Leon chewed his thoughts for a few moments, looking at the droplets collected at the bottom of his empty glass. He did truly feel grateful for the help but it stung his pride to admit that he and Pigma needed it. It felt like a stain on Star Wolf’s name… a stain that lined up with all the others. Defeated by Star Fox. Defeated by Archie. It felt like every victory was stolen from their hands. Every fight ended in defeat. He sighed, massaging his brow. 

“Thank you,” the Venomian said quietly, eyes meeting Orvis’s and then Herb’s. 

“Ehehehe, no problem at all, lads. Just kick his ass for us, please,” Herb said with a smile. “Well, it’s about time that Jessie and I head back to work. C’mon, Jessie.” He hopped up and began to waddle towards a door that looked as though it led to the outside. The coyote, presumably Jessie, nodded wordlessly then followed Herb out the door, Orvis’s wife seeing them off.

“So, I guess we just gotta figure out what we’re gonna do from here,” Pigma said, looking to Leon.

“Are you able to fight?” Leon asked the swine.

“Yeah, I think so. Are you?” Pigma asked.

“Wolf is captured…” Leon said, voice trailing. Resting even for a moment and having a glass of water felt like a betrayal. His grip on the glass tightened. What if they were too late? He was too scared to go down that rabbit hole but the horrifying reality was tempting him. What if the other two were already dead? And that would leave him with… 

“And Andrew too,” Pigma added, prompting him to continue.

“Yes, Andrew too,” Leon said quickly. “I would rather we leave sooner than later…”

“Hold on,” Orvis held up a hand. “Do you even know where you’re going?”

“Archie’s manor?” Pigma guessed.

“You could but your friends aren’t there,” Orvis replied with the shake of his head. “You’re gonna need to head for the Grounds. It’s Archie’s playground on the other side of the mountains. He takes all his prisoners there eventually. When he’s got enough, they say he makes them fight each other. A sort of colosseum of sorts.”

“That’s… efficient,” Pigma commented.

“Barbaric,” Leon remarked. “The other side of the mountains. That will take us a long while, even if we had a car.”

“Oh, well, whose fault is that?” Pigma taunted.

“Shut up,” Leon hissed. “My point is, we need a way to get over there and quickly.” 

“Like a… a ship,” Pigma scratched his chin. “Well, we could try to go back to the hangar but odds are our stuff is totally confiscated. Or they’re hoping we go back. Ugh, our Wolfens would be really handy right about now.”

“They would,” Leon agreed grimly. “Returning would be dangerous but not… impossible. Just a very poor idea.”

“Oh, you need to fly to the Grounds?”Mrs. Fleece returned to the kitchen. Deftly, she slid on two oven mitts, then yanked out a casserole from the heated depths of the oven. “Honey, you know Glider’s daughter is back in town, right? She could probably help them.”

“Is she? That would be convenient. And Glider’s never been one for Archie either,” Orvis said thoughtfully. “That could work. If she’s willing to part with a ship, that is.”

“She’s an old ship dealer,” Orvis’s wife informed them. “She takes old scraped up ships, refurbishes them, then resells them for profit. She goes out every so often and comes back with some good wares. Maybe worth taking a look at?”

“Better than trying to fight all of Archie’s men with little to no weapons,” Pigma agreed.

“Then it’s settled,” Orvis’s wife said, cutting her husband off with a pleasant smile. “You can head over to Glider’s after supper.”

“I don’t think we have time for--” Leon began but Orvis’s wife shot him a very pointed look.

“Ships later. First, casserole.”

Dinner was pleasant enough but Leon’s nerves beat back his appetite. He took meager portions, eating it all only because of Mrs. Fleece’s insistent looks. The three lambs eagerly bounced up and down in their chairs, bombarding Pigma with questions about life outside of Eladard. The swine seemed more than happy to entertain them and Leon was thankful for it, focusing his thoughts on their next move. As Orvis led them towards the front door, Leon felt something tug on his jacket. He cast a tired look down at Orvis’s smallest kid, the lamb from before. She looked up at him with doll-like eyes.

“Do you… want this back?” She asked, holding up something in her tiny hands.

Leon’s blood went cold when he realized she was holding the Burning Stars-- the very thing that had even led them to Archie’s manor in the first place. He grabbed it from her hastily-- so hastily that her eyes bugged out with fear. She jumped back, ears drooping. Leon paused for a moment, then said gruffly.

“Thank you for holding onto it for me. This necklace is… important.”

Her ears perked up and she smiled bashfully at him before skipping away. The lizard gave a sigh of relief, tucking it back into his pocket. If they had showed up empty-handed after all of this, he would have never forgiven himself. As Pigma gave their heartfelt thanks to Mrs. Fleece, Orvis waved them through the door. 

“Not far, just down the block,” the ram informed them and away they went.

Though it was clear that the neighborhood the Fleeces lived in were better off than some of the streets they had seen, it was also evident that Corona itself was a withering mess. A single lamp post sat at the end of the road. The others seemed to have been knocked out of the ground very purposefully.

By the time they reached the porch, Leon could have sworn he felt eyes following them from across the street. He glanced back at where some children were playing in the streets, kicking back and forth a ball. They seemed innocent enough but Leon still worried. He pointedly avoided making eye contact with them, shuffling up behind Orvis in front of Glider’s door. A makeshift wind chime had been made of bottles. It clinked together softly in the wind. Orvis knocked and silence fell upon the quiet neighborhood.

“You know, we could just ask Glider’s daughter to fix up the carrier for us if Lenny turns out to be dead as a doornail,” Pigma remarked to Leon quietly.

“We’ll worry about that once we find the other two,” Leon grumbled.

After a few minutes of silence, Orvis knocked again. Footsteps thudded on the other side of the door. When the door opened, Leon was mildly surprised to see a wide-eyed sugar glider standing in front of them. The top of his head came up to Orvis’s stomach. He fought with a large circular pair of spectacles.

“Oh… Orvis! H-hello there!” the sugar glider exclaimed. “M-may I ask the uh… may I ask the occasion?”

“Glider, so good to see you,” Orvis said, clasping his frail hand. “Is Candy home, by any chance?”

“Oh… yes, just came home yesterday,” Glider said, blinking with surprise. “Oh! Uh… do come in, I… I suppose…” He stepped aside, looking at Leon and Pigma curiously. 

“Thank you greatly, Glider,” Orvis said. “My two ah… friends here. They need a ship. Figured Candy would be the one to talk to.”

“Oh! Per-perfect, I should say! Candy, dear! Orvis is here with some ah… some customers!” Glider called. 

Footsteps down a set of stairs alerted Leon. Candy came into view a few moments later-- a light blue-grey sugar glider with bright teal eyes. Her grin was flashy-- Leon hated it, just like he hated virtually everything about dreary Eladard. But her smile was different, he gave her that. It felt like lightning.

“Customers, eh?” Candy said with a smile. “Name’s Candy Kajben. Nice ta meet ya!” She extended a hand to Pigma, who took it eagerly, and then to Leon. The lizard apprehensively took it and she shook it with a firm enough grip that made him think she was perhaps stronger than her thin frame let on. 

“Howdy, we’re in the market for a ship. Nothin’ too fancy, somethin’ that could get us uhhhh over the mountains,” Pigma replied.

“Oh psh, that’s easy. Here, let’s take a look at my shop,” Candy said. “Out the back. C’mon, this way.” 

“I leave these two in your capable hands,” Orvis said to Candy, heading back towards the front door. “I can’t do much help past this. Leon. Pigma… Make ‘em hurt, that’s all I can say.”

“Will do,” Pigma grinned at him.

“We will,” Leon echoed his companion, watching Orvis vanish through the front door. 

Candy was a generous host, escorting them personally through her family’s abode and towards the back door. She opened the door to their backyard, which looked mostly filled with overgrown grass and a cobblestone pathway that looked like it had not been maintained in decades. An old swing set sat abandoned, rusted over and missing a swing. Leon doubted that the old chains could hold weight anymore. 

“So, tell me about yourselves!” Candy grinned at them. “Where ya from?”

“Katina,” Pigma said, sporting his fake good-natured tone. “Used to do mercenary work out of Papetoon, though. Haven’t been to Corona in forever. Seems like it’s different now.”

_ Different as in… skeletal? Dusty? Completely decrepit?_

“Oh yeah, Archie’s really torn up the place. But not his fault, really, the Cornerians were supposed to send us supplies and they just oopsie-whoopsied and forgot to. So we’ve been fending for ourselves for awhile now. Not much trade comes our way anymore. That’s why I usually planet hop when I go to sell my wares,” Candy said as they walked down the trail. “You’re lucky I’m in town this week. I usually go to Macbeth but it’s my dad’s birthday in two days.”

“Oh, lucky us,” Pigma grinned.

A ways down the cobblestone path and they crossed through an old, damp looking wooden gate. It creaked angrily when it slammed shut behind them. Leon could see that they were approaching the backside of a wide metal building. From the sounds he heard, it seemed as though the front of the building faced a road. 

Candy sauntered up to the side of the building, opening a black door. Leon caught the edge of the door with a hand, holding it open as the other two slipped in. His back angrily grumbled at him for it but he ignored the stinging pain. He followed them into the building, which he soon realized was an abandoned warehouse. Its shelves had been taken out, leaving an open central room. A garage door sat at the far end. Between the trio and the garage were at least five small spacefighters.

“Now, I’m a bit low on stock, I will admit. But let’s go ahead and start with price range,” Candy grinned. “How expensive are you thinking? I got a good brand from some Fichinan scientists that have seat warmers!”

“Uhhh,” Pigma stopped, looking to Leon. “How much cash you got on hand?”

“I left my wallet on the carrier,” Leon replied slowly with horrified realization. He searched Pigma’s face, watching the swine’s face fall with disappointment. Panicked, the lizard remarked, “What about those weapons you sold?”

“I sold them to keep a bounty off my head,” Pigma shook his head. “I didn’t get any money from it!”

_ So we’re penniless…_

Leon sadly dragged his gaze over to Candy, who looked at them both with narrowed eyes and her arms folded over her chest. He had a feeling she was not in the mood to be particularly charitable. Her foot rapped the ground. Pigma scratched the back of his neck.

_ We could always do this the old fashioned way. I know she’s been nice to us so far, but niceness isn’t going to get us Wolf and Andrew back. My rifle might have been destroyed but I have my knives with me. She looks unarmed. We could take her no problem…_

“So we’re… kinda broke,” Pigma began with an uncertain chuckle. Candy did not look amused. The swine held up his hands. “Look, sweetheart, I’m not above beggin’ at this point. My pal and I have had it rough these past few days. First we get into it with the Cornerians, then we get into it with this Archie guy’s band, and now we’re kinda fugitives…”

“Fugitives?” Candy’s eyes stretched wide. “Wait… you’re going against Archie!? The Baron? The guy who runs this whole city?”

“Err… yes,” Pigma said. “Unless that’s a bad thing, in which case… no…”

“No one goes against Archie and lives to talk about it,” Candy said, her expression softening. Her body language shifted-- arms solidly crossed over her chest laxing until she was hugging herself. Teal irises glossed over with moisture, with remembrance. Leon’s eyes narrowed. Had she lost someone to the Baron too? It seemed like that was a common story around Corona…

“We will,” Leon declared coolly, looking down at the sugar glider with a sort of certainty he felt was probably misplaced. After all, their winning streak was fairly nonexistent.

“He’s dangerous. The things he does to people… it’s horrendous,” Candy’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Even joking about something like that… that could get you killed. Are you really sure about what you’re doing?”

“Listen… we’ve been in some scraps before. We’ll be fineeee,” Pigma said reassuringly. “All we need is one of those little ships of yours… and then boom.”

“Are you going to kill him?” Candy asked. There was hope in her eyes-- something that seemed strangely bloodthirsty compared to her innocent face.

“If we can? Yes,” Leon said. “If he gets between us and our wingmates? Definitely yes.”

“Good,” Candy said, looking away. “I want to help you but I also can’t afford to not make a profit off of these ships. I got debts to pay, too. I’m… afraid I’ll have to pick the one for you.”

She took a few steps down the aisle in front of the ship, pointing down towards the far end of the room. “Fourth one down, the orange and white one. It’s a Papetoonian skipper. Probably ten years old. I bought it off a farmer that wouldn’t leave me alone. She’s not a great plane but… you can take her. Keys are in the cockpit.”

Leon’s eyes widened. What luck was this? He looked to Pigma, who seemed to be bathing in satisfaction, his grin stretching from ear-to-ear. 

“Thanks! We’ll uh… try not to crash her!” Pigma said.

“Don’t thank me until you make it back from wherever you’re going,” Candy shook her head. “And definitely… definitely don’t tell anyone I gave you that ship. Unless you win, of course, then you can tell everyone.” Her smile wavered for a moment but she managed a wink at Pigma.

“Heh, whatever ya say, darling,” Pigma chortled.

The trio made their way to the ship that was fourth down the line. Leon’s initial reaction to the skipper was lackluster-- it looked like a small two-seater plane that had been used for crop dusting, if anything. It had two wings, a compartment for supplies underneath, a simple cannon under its nose, and a touched-up paint job. Leon glanced over at Pigma, gauging his response. When the swine was done giving the skipper a look over, he gave his nod of approval.

“Simple skipper, easy enough to fly. I’ll take the controls, Leon, you take the passenger side,” Pigma said, cracking open the cockpit. 

“Fine by me,” Leon nodded. 

“I’ll open the door for ya. She’s filled up on fuel,” Candy smiled, walking over the garage door controls. 

Pigma began to settle into the pilot’s seat, shimmying a bit to make himself comfortable in the relatively tight chair. Leon sidled in behind him, in the passenger’s seat. Pigma handed him his blaster from his belt and Leon accepted it with a sigh. He did suppose that if he was not flying, he could at least be prepared to fire if necessary. 

“It sure seems like all these people have been suffering because of Archie,” Pigma remarked in a low voice as Candy flicked the switch to open the garage door. “Kinda makes me think we should take ‘em down.”

_He’s correct. Even families like Orvis’s, who seem like they steer to the right side of the law seem affected by Archie’s tyranny. It makes me wonder what would have happened if Venom had conquered this planet. Would Archie have tried to stand up to Andross? Would Andross have snuffed Archie and his little army out like a candlelight? I suppose the answer does not matter. Andross is dead… and we have survived. Somehow. Be it fate or luck or perhaps even skill._

“Wolf and Andrew are the concern at the moment. We will worry about Archie later,” Leon said quietly. 

“Ready when you are, boys!” Candy called to them.

“Roger that, ma’am!” Pigma threw her a lofty salute then started up the skipper’s engine. Its roar drowned out Candy’s words but Leon could tell she was shouting something joyful to them, waving happily. 

The skipper jerked forward, rolling towards the opened garage doors, where the skies awaited them. Cockpit shutting out the majority of the engine’s snarl, Leon found himself eagerly staring ahead through the windshield. He rested the blaster in his lap, feeling the ache from the crash in his limbs. Leon closed his eyes, feeling the skipper peel into the light. 

_Wolf… are you even still alive? Or are we on our way to avenge you? _

There was a small runway built into the lot-- so small that even Pigma looked concerned. However, the swine steeled himself. With a furrowed brow, he slammed the accelerate and the skipper began to race forward. A hard pull up on the joystick and they were soon airborne, soaring their way high into the heavens. Leon watched Corona slip further and further away, its decrepit streets looking perfectly normal the higher the skipper climbed. He marveled silently at how similar the decaying capital was to his homeworld-- a savage land, but full of a different type of savagery. Leon was certain he preferred Venom. The streets were not as paved but its cruelty seemed fair, less discriminatory. 

_The world outside of Venom is strange. I fear I will never come to understand it fully. But perhaps that is normal. The universe… _

His eyes directed to the back of Pigma’s head.

_… and its people are full of surprises._

“Hm, I’m detecting something big on the other side of the mountains. I wonder if that’s the Grounds that they were tellin’ us about,” Pigma remarked.

Leon’s fiery gaze turned to the mountains-- dark, jagged teeth rising from the barren soil. They looked menacing, daring them to approach. The Venomian’s heart fluttered with anticipation. 

“Let us see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes this miniature tale of a pig and lizard trying to stay alive in the rough streets of Corona.
> 
> I wanted to put in a scene where Pigma and Leon went to an old junkdealer's shop and met someone who knew Pigma during his Star Fox years. The scene was going to include the junkdealer asking how Peppy and James were doing, with the thought that Eladard was so far behind in what was going on outside of the planet that people didn't really know about the Lylat Wars but I thought that was a little too unbelievable, especially since Lenny already knew Wolf had become a pirate in the main Burning Stars story. It was a nice thought but eh I decided to leave it out. I was also a bit concerned about overloading the story with OCs, even if they were minor roles but I felt that the story needed more characters to let the plot move better. 
> 
> I loved writing Leon a lot and I think I may explore that later. Same with Pigma, honestly.


End file.
